


singing for blood

by mosalyng



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Drabble, M/M, dissociating, drunk makeouts, hurt and no comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-28
Updated: 2018-08-28
Packaged: 2019-07-03 19:16:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15825243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mosalyng/pseuds/mosalyng
Summary: Minghao only wants to save himself from pain.





	singing for blood

**Author's Note:**

> trying to get rid of writer's block and failing miserably. unbetad.
> 
> title from siken's snow and dirty rain. uhhh....

 

Minghao’s trapped in a car that’s speeding down the highway. He’s in the passenger seat and the driver is someone he knows. The face is familiar, and there’s a dull pain in Minghao’s chest, but the right name is somewhere else, irretrievable no matter how hard he tries to remember.

The sky is red and vast and Minghao knows they’re going to crash. It’s a gut feeling. Nightmares never end well. Do the brakes even work? He wants to ask, but every time he tries to open his mouth, it’s always filled with blood. So he doesn’t; stays quiet and switches his stare from the road to the driver’s right hand, thin and beautiful.

That’s when he realizes. It’s a hand that has spent years playing the piano. He knows who it belongs to because this face is the one he always sees before falling asleep, and these hands are the ones he’s felt so many times on his throat and his skin.

 

 

 

“Hey, Hao,” he hears someone say as he tries to stop his body from shaking. “It’s me, Junhui.”

And of course it is; Junhui is always there, at the tip of Minghao’s fingertips, in their shared hotel rooms, waiting for his next move, looking into Minghao’s eyes as if he was looking for answers to every single one of his questions. Minghao doesn’t have them, not when it comes to Junhui, not ever.

When he finally opens his eyes, he notices Junhui’s hands are shaking a little, too, and his gaze is too clouded for him to be sober. Minghao realizes they’re still in that shitty backstage room, waiting to go on stage. He counts; twenty minutes left. There’s no way Junhui will sober up by the time their show starts, but Minghao chooses not to mention it, because Junhui has probably played his guitar drunk more times than he did it sober, and this is what both of them signed up for. For different reasons, but still willingly.

Minghao knows Jihoon will be here soon, waving his drumsticks with a look of irritation written across his face, and tell them to hurry the fuck up. He knows how it goes. Junhui will laugh and tell him to take it easy, but still get up because if there’s anyone Junhui actually listens to, it’s Lee Jihoon.

Junhui doesn’t say anything. There’s nothing to say, Minghao decides. They've spent months talking and laughing, so now there’s nothing left. Smiles have turned into the feeling of skin on skin and Minghao wishes he wasn’t aware that they can’t go back to the beginning.

“I have something for you,” Minghao says eventually, sneaking a glance just to see Junhui's reaction.

“Oh, yeah?” Junhui says, the sweetest smile on his face. It’s the one that always makes Minghao think it shouldn’t belong here, shouldn’t belong to someone who plays his guitar for drunk teenagers and angsty young adults; it’s a smile of someone who deserves concert halls and the chance to spend his life playing the piano. It’s the only thing that lights up this dirty, makeshift backstage room and Minghao hates seeing it here.

He sighs. “Yeah. Can’t wait for you to hear it,” he says, trying to respond with a small smile of his own but failing. Junhui doesn’t say anything else and just stares at the door instead, as if he was waiting for Jihoon to show up, too.

It’s an empty promise. Minghao knows Junhui will never hear it anyway because Minghao’s hungry and selfish and always keeps his own pain to himself. He wants Junhui to know but at the same time it feels like something that’s solely his own, so he keeps writing about him and never sings these things out loud.

Minutes pass and everything grows silent again. It doesn’t matter. Minghao doesn’t want to perform tonight, anyway; Junhui’s too drunk and he’s too cold to go out. He wishes Jihoon would cancel it and wishes Wonwoo would stop making Junhui smile and he wishes -

He starts breathing heavily, again. He thinks Junhui can hear it because there’s a small kiss being planted on Minghao’s jaw. He sighs as he exposes his neck a little. It’s a pattern and it’s comfortable even though Minghao wishes it wasn’t.

Here’s the thing: people always tell him he’s too quiet. _Minghao, you should use your words more. You’re almost fluent in Korean_ , they say, and Minghao lets them believe his language skills or lack thereof is the reason why he usually chooses to sit in silence during social gatherings. The truth is, he knows too much and it’s hard to think of a way not to spill it all. He knows Wonwoo has been crushing on Junhui for months and he knows Wonwoo deserves Junhui more than he ever could. He knows him and Junhui are never going to work out. He knows there’s a gaping hole where his heart should be and he knows Junhui’s own heart is too big for his chest. Opposites attract, but not always complement each other. Minghao knows it all too well.

Junhui slips a hand under Minghao’s worn out shirt and there’s something about his touch that speaks of hesitation. His fingers are warm and Minghao thinks it might be enough to leave burn scars on his skin.

  
It’s not much, but it’s enough to make him moan a little, and as soon as he hears it, Junhui’s everywhere; kissing his chest and collarbones, leaving small bruises behind. Minghao reaches out to cup his jaw, digging his fingers into Junhui’s skin before kissing him; Junhui lets him deepen it. (He lets him because deep down he’s just a follower, always wanting to please, trying to limit the damage.)  
  
It’s moments like these that make Minghao want to tell him he loves him, but he’s not sure. He isn’t himself and hasn’t been for a long while. Junhui isn’t his past self, either. Minghao still remembers the day they met; it was Jihoon who introduced them to each other with a sly smile on his lips. He couldn’t stop praising Junhui for his talent and told everyone they have to add him to the band because Junhui can not only play the piano, but he’s great with guitar, too. Junhui, on the other hand, stood there in his expensive clothes, fidgeting and unable to keep his head up to look them in the eye. It made Minghao’s blood boil, but not enough for the feeling to last.

Maybe he should feel sorry for turning Junhui into this drunk mess that he is now, but then again, he already blames himself enough for things he can’t control. If there’s anything that could kill him, it’s his own unbearable feeling of guilt. He probably wouldn’t survive having to add more things to the list.

“Junhui,” Minghao calls out when he feels the other’s hand traveling up his thigh. Junhui looks up at him then, waiting, searching for something that doesn’t exist anyway. “Let’s stop. He’s gonna be here in a second.”

Junhui opens his mouth to say something, but, as Minghao has predicted, whatever he’s going to say is interrupted by Jihoon’s voice; tired but surprisingly not annoyed. Minghao feels weirdly out of place but still watches Junhui get up and grab his guitar, barely avoiding tripping over a can of Tsingtao.

 

 

 

They’re in a car; Jihoon has already left with Wonwoo. Minghao’s in the passenger seat and Junhui’s fiddling with his keys. No words are exchanged. They’re both sweaty and Minghao’s throat hurts from singing and screaming for nearly an hour, but it’s fine. It always is.

The sky is dark and Minghao thinks they’re going to crash. Junhui’s still a little drunk despite insisting that he isn’t. Minghao decides to put his hand on Junhui’s to stop him. “You should call a cab. You can pick your car up tomorrow, right?”

Junhui looks at him for the longest time before nodding his head. They sit in silence; Junhui, waiting for what’s about to come and Minghao still not wanting it to end.

“I think I’m gonna quit,” he says finally, returning Junhui’s gaze. “Go back to China.”

“Why would you do that?” There’s no anger in his voice, and Minghao wonders how it’s even possible. But then again, he has never seen Junhui mad at anyone, so maybe it makes sense.

“Just feeling like it, I guess.” They both know it’s a lie. “You know me.” (Junhui doesn’t, not really.)

Junhui looks at him like he wants to say something and Minghao knows Junhui’s too caring and too protective of people close him to let him go that easily, so he doesn’t even let him open his mouth, opening the door on the passenger side to get out of the car. “Talk to Wonwoo, okay? I think he’s got something to tell you.”

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! catch me on [twt](https://twitter.com/moonfens) if you wanna


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